


Desperation

by Shadowsdance



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, But stiles is mostly in his right mind, Deaton is not involved in anything other than research promise, Dubious Consent, Just turned on, M/M, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Scenting, Sex Pollen, So that makes this a little, Stiles Snarkinski, This is short i was expecting longer hah, You know werewolf stuff, mentions of Peter/Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowsdance/pseuds/Shadowsdance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He fumbles desperately for his phone, fingers slipping uselessly on the touch screen. He ends up dialing the first number in his recent contacts and he prays to god it's not his father.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>Stiles almost cries. "Oh god, Derek, I've fucked up so bad. Come help me, god please come help me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> So not in the mood to format right now. I'll do it later. Probably.
> 
> Anyway I just kind of..wanted a sex pollen fic where it isn't extremely dub-con and I wrote this. Tried to keep it kind of ambiguous as to when it's set, but obvs after season one bc hello Peter.
> 
> Sorry if it sucks. I tried.

Being alone in the woods in Beacon Hills is suicidal. So Stiles, of course, goes into the woods in Beacon Hills alone. And of course Stiles finds the huge patch of flowers face first. And /of course/ he gets coated in a thin layer of pink-tinted pollen. And /of fucking course/ he starts to feel hot and bothered on his way home to wash it off.

He jacks off in the shower twice. Once more right after closing his bedroom door. And twice more sprawled across his bed. And maybe he gets three fingers up his ass. Maybe.

He's desperate by orgasm 8. He feels hot, so hot, and he's got lube pretty much all over himself and the bed. He fumbles desperately for his phone, fingers slipping uselessly on the touch screen. He ends up dialing the first number in his recent contacts and he prays to god it's not his father.

"Yeah?"

Stiles almost cries. "Oh god, Derek, I've fucked up so bad. Come help me, god please come help me." He's still got his fingers up his ass, face mushed into his pillow, words muffled. He'd be worried about if Derek heard him but werewolf hearing. He whines loud and long and he wonders if his dad's home.

"Stiles? Stay on the phone with me. Scott's coming with me. Where are you?"

Stiles whines again, writhing. "Not Scott, please, not Scott. Bring like Peter or Isaac or just /not Scott/." As turned on and desperate as he is, he does /not/ want his best friend seeing him in this condition. "I'm-" he gasps and groans, "I'm home. Hurry."

"We're almost there." There's the sound of doors slamming and Stiles hears footsteps downstairs. "Jesus, Stiles... is that you I'm smelling?"

"Yeah, yeah probably." He gasps and cries out as he brushes his prostate. "Help me," he sobs, ignoring the sudden silence behind him.

"Get Deaton. See if you can contact Argent, too. Stiles...do you remember how you got like this?" Derek is by his head, resolutely ignoring the way Stiles groans and reaches with his free hand.

"Flowers. Pink pollen." Stiles bites his bottom lip to stop the sound he wants to make. "God, I feel like...like I'm burning! It's... It's so hot, could you...could you get me some water?" That's not exactly what he wants. He wants Derek or whoever, god he doesn't even care who at this point, to fuck him into his mattress until he doesn't remember his own name.

Derek swallows and nods, moving away. "Don't lay a finger on him," he warns whoever else is in the room.

"Oh my god, do," he cries into his pillow, twisting his fingers as much as he can, searching for his prostate again.

"Tempting. So very tempting." Peter walks into his line of sight and sinks into Stiles' computer chair. "You don't have any idea how delicious you smell right now do you? And your ass held high, fingers so deep I wonder if you're so flexible all over. Enticing." Peter sits back, smiles his pleasant "totally not a psycho killer" smile, fingers steepled in his lap.

"Can you do your whole supervillain speech with your dick up my ass?" Stiles snarls, gritting his teeth. He needs, he /needs/, and he can't fix it himself and he /needs/.

Peter purses his lips and tilts his head. "What an awful way to say please."

Stiles jolts when Derek is suddenly blocking his view, a cup of cold water in his hand. He whines at Derek's fingers on his skin, helping him sit up to get some water down his throat. He moans at the feeling, eyes falling shut. The cup's empty in three huge gulps. Derek steps back and sets the cup on Stiles' desk, leaning on the wall next to it and determinedly not looking at the way Stiles flops back down and wraps his hand around his dick, decidedly unabashed about how /absolutely desperate/ he is.

"Can...I mean... I just...someone touch me?" Stiles knows he's speaking into his pillow and it's muffled again. He also knows they can still understand him perfectly.

"It's the pollen, Stiles. We...it'd be taking advantage." Derek sounds choked.

Stiles whines, jolting. "You think I don't know that? I'm well aware how much the pollen is screwing with me. But if someone doesn't fuck me right now, I'm going to combust."

Stiles watches them, the surviving Hales, have a silent conversation involving copious use of eyebrows, as he moans and scrapes his nails on his thighs. "Oh my god, /please/!" he groans.

His phone rings and Derek snatches it, glancing at the contact name and answering with a "please tell me you know something." His face darkens and he looks almost feral. "Yeah sure." He presses a button. "Go ahead."

"Stiles? I need you to describe the flower as best you can," Deaton says in his usual extreme calm voice.

"Oh god, okay. Um, it was a big patch of like, uh, small dark pink or purple flowers that made a huge cloud of pink pollen when I fell into it." He paused and licked his lips. "Smelled sweet, like candy."

Deaton hums and the sound of pages being flipped comes through the phone. "Alright, Stiles. We'll figure this out. In the meantime...perhaps keep a steady intake of fluids and...well. If you've got someone special that you'd like to contact to...help your condition until...." He trails off.

"Okay. Okay, god, okay." Stiles bites his lip to keep from making a noise that would embarrass him as he tweaks a nipple.

Deaton clears his throat. "Derek?"

Derek takes the phone off speaker and puts it to his ear. "Yeah?"

Stiles ignores him, looking instead at Peter, at the facial hair that would feel incredible on his thighs, the hands pressed together that could press his legs open with ease, the mouth that could make him scream. The sound he makes as he comes is almost a scream, almost a howl. He doesn't even get a refraction period, he's hard again almost immediately.

Peter's nose twitches and he leans forward, inhaling deeply. "Derek," he growls. "I am only a man," he says without his usual quirk of his lips when he jokes.

Stiles reaches out and Peter takes his hand. Stiles almost cries. "Please," he whimpers. His fingers spasm and tighten, pulling weakly at Peter's hand. "Please."

"Okay. Yeah. Yeah. Hurry." Derek hangs up, throws Stiles' phone on the desk as he pushes forward and grabs the almost empty bottle of lube off the bed. "Hey. Stiles? How loose are you?"

Stiles hums brokenly and shoves his free hand down, shoving three fingers into his ass in one go. "So loose. Been doing this for like two hours. Are you...will you please...?"

Derek looks like he's walking to the gallows as he nods, kneeling on the bed. "Peter...."

Peter stares at Stiles, at where his fingers are, and nods, very slowly. "If...."

"If you're needed, I'll call." Derek's dismissal is sharp. He tugs off his shirt as Peter slips out of the room (probably to listen outside, the perv).

"Der...." Stiles reaches with both hands. He knows he looks debauched, disheavaled, wrecked already. "Please," he whispers.

"I know." Derek pops his jeans button as he shifts closer. "Listen...if you want me to stop at any time, tell me. If you're uncomfortable, tell me."

"Okay, yeah, okay. Just...touch me." Stiles shifts his hips restlessly.

Derek licks his lips. "Okay." He leans in, slides his palms across Stiles' calves. He exhales sharply when Stiles jerks and kicks his legs down around Derek's. "Shhh, calm down. I'm here. We can go slow. I'll take care of you." His hands smooth up Stiles' legs, gentle and careful.

Stiles wants it, and he wants it now, but he'll take what he can get. He nods quickly and slows it down at Derek's look. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." 

Derek swallows, a loud sound in the almost silent room. "I'm going to take my pants off. I'll be right here." He slips Stiles' legs off his hips and sits back, doing a weird little movement with his hips to slide his jeans off, followed by his boxers. He glances up, catches Stiles staring, and gives him this tiny smile that makes his heart stutter.

Stiles reaches out again and Derek comes to him, settling back down between his legs like the position was made for him and him alone. Stiles stays still by sheer force of will, waiting until Derek slides Stiles' legs back around his hips and leans in. "I...kiss me?"

Derek nods and leans in, kissing him feather light before pressing just a bit more and turning it into something almost loving.

Stiles sighs, almost content aside from the burning need that's under his skin. His eyes shut and his hands find their way to Derek's hair, clutching and pulling until he can't take the slow press of lips and rocks his hips up. Skin on skin that isn't his own sends a bolt of pure ecstasy through him. He pants and Derek takes that as the invitation it totally is, his tongue touching Stiles'.

It goes from simple kissing to downright dirty in about .2 seconds as Stiles rolls his hips again, hands moving from hair to skin to yank Derek closer.

Derek has his wrists pinned by his heasd before he can take his next breath. "Slow and steady," he murmurs into Stiles' neck. He licks at the sweat and skin there.

"Mark me." The words fly out of Stiles' mouth before he even knows what he's saying. He flushes darker than he already is. "Uh...." He wants to say sorry, that's totally not what he meant to say but fuck that, that's totally what he meant to say. If this is his one chance with Derek friggen Hale, he wants reminders.

Derek rumbles a growl that's almost playful as he latches onto Stiles' neck and sucks, hard.

If Stiles was standing, this is the point his legs would give out. As it is, he whines and rocks his hips up again. "Oh my /god/, Derek- you're...." He can't finish the sentence because he has so many things he'd like to say. Incredible. Delicious. Wonderful. Amazing. Fantastic.

Derek hums as he nibbles, licking again before sitting back to admire his work. "Yeah. Could you roll over for me?"

Stiles is moving before the request is fully formed. He ignores Derek laughing and sticks his ass in the air, making all laughter stop completely. He waits, absolutely totally impatient.

Derek's hot breath on his lower back makes him writhe. "Please, please, pleasepleaseplease!" Needy is Stiles' middle name. He's almost certain.

Derek huffs and his nose brushes the base of Stiles' spine before his hands gently pull his ass open, making a tiny noise Stiles wants to classify as a moan as he noses lower.

Stiles would moan if there was air in his lungs. Derek Hale is like millimeters from his hole and is making satisfied noises with what he finds there. He could come from that alone. He almost does. Almost.

He does come when Derek licks from his taint to his spine. He twitches and spasms and cries out like he's in pain because /Jesus/ that was incredible. He thinks he says something to that degree because Derek huffs again and fucking /sucks/ on Stiles' hole, making his arch and sob. He wonders if it's always like this or if it's just the pollen making it so much more extreme. He hopes it's the former.

Derek spends another few minutes there, Stiles coming once again, before he slides two fingers deep into his, twisting and turning them until Stiles screams into his pillow. Derek grins into his shoulder, where he's pressing kiss after kiss after marking suck after kiss and adds another finger easily.

"Come on, Der. Come on." Stiles has breath again. Wow. Incredible.

Derek hums, his fingers leaving him. And then Stiles thinks he dies because finally, fucking /finally/, Derek is guiding his dick into him.

He's crying, he realizes, thanking Derek like he just rescued his puppy from getting ran over. Derek hushes him, kissing his tears away, soothing him with gentle hands smoothing down his sides. He holds still, lets Stiles adjust, then moves.

Stiles has definitely died. There's no way. No freaking way. Sex cannot feel this indescribably good.

"Stiles, fuck, just...." Derek sounds breathless and broken now, like it's him who's falling apart at the seams.

And oh, Stiles is coming. Again. 

Derek shudders, a full body movement that makes Stiles whimper and arch his neck, baring it to the werewolf who's currently fucking him. Derek growls and sinks blunt teeth into his neck, snapping his hips.

Stiles sobs, it's too much, he's going to explode into peices, his gravestone will read "here lies Stiles, fucked to death," and he thinks that's an incredible way to go.

Derek, who was the paragon of gentle lover, is now fucking into him like he knows Stiles /needs/ it with his whole body, every cell, every atom. Like he can't stop himself from making Stiles make every noise in the book and then some. Like he's addicted to the way Stiles squirms and writhes and begs with his body.

The phone is ringing on the desk but neither of them even look at it, Stiles coming again and Derek following about three thrusts later.

As they lay there, panting, Stiles realizes belatedly that he's...okay. No burning need to come, no erection that won't go away. He's okay. He looks over, meets Derek's eyes, smiles, and curls up against him, so tired he could sleep right now.

Derek doesn't let him. "Come on. Shower time."

Stiles whines, "noooo."

Derek lifts him anyway, carries him across the hall to the bathroom, sets him on the toilet. He turns the water on in the shower, letting it heat up and staring at Stiles like he's the most interesting thing in the world.

"What?" Stiles asks slowly, mouth dry like someone's shoved cotton into it.

Derek shakes his head slowly. "Nothing. I'm gonna check who called. You think you can take care of this on your own?"

Stiles looks up at him. "Are you gonna be here when I get out?"

There's a brief silence. "Do you want me to be?"

"Yeah," Stiles mutters, looking at the steam coming from the water.

"Then yeah." Derek hesitates a moment then tilts Stiles' head up and kisses him, oh so gently, barely even there.

Stiles hums, kisses him back, threads a hand in his hair. He pulls back a moment later, blinking as he realizes his eyes were closed. "Okay."

Derek smiles and Stiles is hit with how gorgeous he is like a punch to the gut. "Holy shit," he whispers, rubbing a hand over Derek's stubble. "You're so hot."

Derek laughs and shakes his head. "Shower," he reminds him, pulling away and shutting the bathroom door behind him.

Stiles takes his shower. He spends most of it cataloging the marks he can see and washing the lube and come off. He knows he should feel embarrassed because wow, he was begging /Peter/ but all he's feeling is tired, hungry, thirsty, and content. Because Derek Hale is waiting for him in his room.

When he steps out of the shower, he takes a few minutes to look at the marks on his neck and upper back, biting his lip as he recalls each being made vividly. He wraps a towel around his hips and crosses back to his room to find Derek (in his boxers agaim, sadly) tossing covers and sheets off his bed into the corner. He pauses, watches him make the bed with new sheets he found god knows where. And another sudden realization comes to him. He loves him. Stiles Stillinski loves Derek Hale.

Derek glances at him. "You okay? Your heart just skipped a beat."

"Uh...yeah." Stiles shuts his door and goes to his dresser, dragging on a pair of sweats before turning back to face Derek. "So...like...." Stiles doesn't know what to say. He wants to babble. He wants to spew his feelings everywhere. But he doesn't know if that's okay. He needs to know if that's okay.

Derek doesn't speak. He lays down and holds his arms open. Stiles is there in seconds, curling around him like a leech. Derek takes a deep breath then says, "you smell like me."

Stiles laughs into Derek's shoulder. "I'm pretty sure you smell like me, too."

"I do." He's quiet for so long Stiles starts to drift. "I like it."

"Me too."

Derek pauses then tugs Stiles up and kisses him again. "I...you're...."

Stiles smiles and brushes his nose against his. "Mine."

Derek hums, "mine."

Stiles closes his eyes and settles, fully prepared to go to sleep.

"Deaton was who called. He said the cure was sex with someone you love."

Stiles opens his eyes and looks up at Derek. "You're not shoving me away."

"I'm not," Derek agrees.

"I love you."

"I love you," Derek replies easily, running his fingers through Stiles' hair.

Stiles falls asleep wrapped in Derek's arms, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Save me from TW hell. Tell me how to improve?


End file.
